The First Time
by StarLightAtTheMoon
Summary: My take on how Steffan became his mother's bargaining chip. Slash
1. How It Began

**Pt. 1: How It Began  
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Implied slash

Summary: When Steffan meets up with his mother after getting a call, he has no idea what is waiting him

Disclaimer: No character you recognize from the Masque is mine

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><p>He stared at her, incredulous of what he'd just heard her saying.<p>

"You want me to do _what_?" he finally said.

His mother gave him a little smile placing her hand on his cheek.

"I know how it might sound," she said, her voice soft. "But it's really not that big of a deal. Just go in there and do whatever is asked of you."

Steffan looked away, this was not what he thought his mother had in mind when she called him and said that she needed him.

"Oh, puppy," said Josefine Kabala, turning his face back to her. "You know our situation. We're not rich, have never had any great wealth, but still we got to survive in this world. And to survive you sometimes got to make sacrifices. I know that, I've made these… _sacrifices _for long now." Her expression went thoughtful, a mischievous little smile coming to her lips. "Such delicious sacrifices."

Steffan watched his mother in shock. He'd known that she'd been seeing a lot of men, if she'd ever tried to hide it she didn't do much of a good job, but that she'd done… whatever she'd done to please them because they paid her… and now she wanted him to do the same.

"Puppy, we need this."

Steffan looked to his right, toward the door behind which he knew that the man would be waiting.

"It's for our future," she whispered in his ear, and Steffan could feel her hand on his back gently pushing making him take a few steps toward the door.

He inhaled deeply and slowly he began to walk toward the door. Reaching it he looked over his shoulder at his mother, she smiled at him encouraging.

Leaving his childhood behind he opened the door and entered a part of his life that would forever haunt him.

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><p>It was done. All that's been asked of him he'd done in wordless obedience. Now he was lying on the bed, feeling numb, listening to the sound of the man moving about in the room.<p>

Steffan had his eyes closed, both because he didn't want to see the other and because he hoped that if the man thought that he was asleep he would be left alone. Feet approached and he had to do his outmost not to move away as a hand came to tenderly stroke his cheek.

"Till the next time," he heard the man's smooth voice say, and not for the first time that night did he feel tears of shame burn behind his eyelids.

Finally the feet moved away and Steffan heard the door open and close as the man left. First then did he open his eyes to stare unseeing in front of him.

Slowly, his body going from numb to aching, he rose from the bed and staggered across the room to the small bathroom, where he fell on his knees by the toilet and threw up.

He dragged himself up to look at himself in the mirror. The man (boy? No, he would never be a boy again) that stared back at him with the eyes filled with pain was pale and the hair framing the face was ruffled and the silver shine seemed to have dulled. His scalp was aching like the rest of him, at one point of the night had his male companion in the heat of the moment grabbed a handful of the hair and pulled hard, obviously not noticing Steffan's discomfort.

He didn't recognize the man that was staring back at him from the mirror.

Unable to, not trying to, stop it he sunk back onto the floor. He sat there leaning against the wall, feeling the cool surface of the floor and the wall against the skin of his naked body. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

That night had been the first time he had taken his cloths of for someone. That night had been when his mother had first sold him. That night had been the night when he'd lost his virginity.

His head fell forward to be caught by hands that would soon be soaked with tears.

The Steffan Kabala that had once been, the fun-loving innocent child that had been so completely untroubled, was dead.


	2. The Night's Not Over Yet

**Pt. 2: The Night's Not Over Yet**

Summary: Steffan returns home to find that the night is still young and got more, if unpleasant, surprises in store for him

Implied slash

Disclaimer: You know it, I know it… Masque of the Red Death and any character from that piece of art do not belong to me

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><p>He'd taken a shower, trying really hard to wash it all off - the whole evening, but when he got out of the shower and he'd got dressed again, he still felt filthy. He couldn't get it off.<p>

Drying his long hair, Steffan stared at his reflection in the mirror, at a face that seemed more like the one of a stranger than his own. The usually so bright and lively eyes was now red rimmed from tears that had been shed and full of hurt, his lips were bruised from the man's not so gentle kisses and slightly quivering. His face was pale and gloomy.

He left the small quarters and, hands in the pocket of his coat and downcast eyes, he began the slow walk home. At the same time as his mind was completely blank, there was endless questions running through his mind, the foremost being the one of 'Why did mother do this to me?'.

He'd always thought of her as a, if sometime's absent, loving person, but now his whole perception on her had changed. Now she was a stranger to him and he wondered if this was how she'd always been. An opportunist that was willing to do just about anything to achieve her goals.

Even using her son as a mean to an end.

Arriving at the door of the apartment where he lived with his mother, he stood staring at the door undecided. If he went inside he would have to face her, sooner or later, and he wasn't sure that he could do that. Not after what he'd been put through. But he had nowhere else to go, so what choice did he have?

He stepped inside. It was quiet and he let out his breath. His mother wasn't there, she'd probably gone to bed already.

Steffan made for his bedroom when a sound had him halting. Voices, two of them, a male and a female. The female's voice he knew as his mother's, but he didn't recognize the male. May be because of the recent experience, but he didn't feel good about this.

His mother came into the room and smiled at the sight of her son.

"Steffan!" she exclaimed happily. "You're home. That's _so _good." The tone of her voice only made him feel more uneasy. "There's someone I want you to meet."

His eyes were drawn to the man that had followed his mother from the adjoining room, and he felt his entire body tensing.

"No," he said. He turned and continued walking toward his bedroom.

"Not so fast," the male said. He'd crossed the room and grabbed the younger man by the wrist turning him forcefully around. "I will get what I paid for," he said his face next to Steffan's.

"Out of business," Steffan said, yanking his arm away from the man. "Go somewhere else."

The man was evidently not happy with that response and hit Steffan hard over the face sending him off balance and onto the floor. Leaning on his elbow Steffan pushed away a few strands of the hair from his face and he looked toward his mother. She had been standing watching it all, not moving a finger to do something, anything, when the male had struck her son. Now she was watching him, meeting his gaze, with a disapproving look on her face. She clearly thought that he was misbehaving.

The man grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to his feet, and while he was being dragged to the bedroom by this stranger Steffan looked at his mother giving her an accusing look that was completely lost on her.


	3. Remembering

**Pt. 3: Remembering**

Summary: Steffan is pestered by memories from what's been done to him

Slash

Disclaimer: see previous chapters

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><p>Finally he'd left, and Steffan could allow himself to relax. If only his body would let him. He twisted and turned trying to find the least painful position for his body, but it was difficult as the man had been violent and Steffan's body had been left battered and bruised.<p>

Around him there was utter silence, and with the blinds shut blocking out the light of the ever lively city he was also surrounded by darkness, except for the one single lamp mounted on the wall. It returned some of the silver in the otherwise matt hair, the soft light gave his skin a golden glow and appeared to smooth out the tension written over his body, only the bruises as testimony to the violation. He reached out for the pillow and hugged it while silent tears fell down his cheek, and as he lay there in almost complete darkness scenes from earlier that night haunted his tired, torn apart mind.

_*He stepped in through the door and although he kept his eyes stubbornly on the floor he knew that he was not alone in there. Steffan could feel the eyes on him. Taking a few steps into the room he stopped, waiting for the other to speak._

_"You're much more beautiful than she said you'd be," a soft male voice murmured._

_She, Steffan thought. Mother. More beautiful than_ mother _said, he corrected the man in his mind._

_He felt a sting of hurt from his mother's betrayal; she'd sold him._

_Steps approached the still youth and a slender hand reached to touch golden cheek._

_"Come on, beautiful," the voice said chidingly. "Look at me."_

_Slowly Steffan lifted his eyes from the ground, where they'd rested on a point somewhat beyond the man, to look at his face and into his eyes. While his voice had been misleadingly soft the light blue eyes was like chips of ice._

_"She also told me that you're a virgin," he continued, with a hungry look in his eyes that made Steffan feel profoundly uncomfortable. "She used that as an argument to set the price higher than she otherwise would be able to. Now I'm very eager to find out if you're overpriced or if maybe you're worth even more."_

_Steffan wondered why a mother would do this to her child, or rather have someone else doing this to the child. But he remembered what she had told him and so without any struggle he stood silent waiting for the man's command._

_"Take your clothes off," he said, looking into Steffan's eyes saying the words with the same calm indifference as if he'd asked him what time it was._

_Diverting his eyes the youth slid the coat off his shoulders and went to drape it over a chair, all while feeling the other's eyes on him. reluctantly, but with his mother's words ringing in his ears, he moved on to grab the bottom of his shirt and pulled it over his head, and doing so hearing a appreciating sound coming from the man._

_On the outside he showed nothing, but on the inside he was screaming to himself to get the hell out of there before either he or the man did something he would regret. But he remained, and with a moment of hesitation he pulled the trousers down, watching them fall into a pile on the floor by his feet, leaving him exposed and feeling weak._

_"Come to me," the man said, a new tone having come to his voice; lust-filled need._

_Steffan did as he was told and moved slowly, to delay the moment when his naked body would be within reach of the stranger, unbeknownst to how the sight of the young body's movements during the slow walk served to increase the man's craving. As he approached he looked back to the man who had begun to take his own clothes off, his eyes never once leaving the beautiful youth. When Steffan reached him the man, his lips curving in a self-satisfied smile, raised a hand to pull away a gold ring holding the hair together, his smile broadening at the silver-white cascade falling richly down the upper body._

_Taking a subtle, yet deep breath, Steffan urged himself to remain calm and not fight as the other advanced on him…*_

He shuddered, pain spreading through him as one or another of the many bruises made uncomfortable contact with the mattress under him.

Did his mother really expect that he would do this again, night after night after night for… how long? Till she finally felt that she'd made enough money out of it? Steffan grimaced. But that's just the thing about his mother; no matter how much she had it was never enough.

Ignoring his protesting body, Steffan slowly, his every movement filled with pain, sat on the edge of the bed. Standing he moved slowly, for every step feeling pain radiating through his torn body. He picked up a robe and wrapped himself in it, tying the sash tightly enough around him to keep it together and loose enough so that he wouldn't hurt much, and then he, as slowly as before, picked his way from his bedroom to the kitchen.

He was thankful not to meet anybody on the way there, either it was his mother or some new stranger, and staggered over to the sink pouring himself a glass of water. He tried to wash away the foul taste in his mouth, the taste of the second – more violent – man's release. Shame flooded him as Steffan recalled how he'd been forced to take the man in his mouth, and when he'd not wanted to do one thing or another been treated with blows and kicks when refusing.

_*From being dragged behind the man, Steffan wasn't ready for it when the man suddenly yanked him forward and after a few stumbling steps he fell onto the bedroom floor._

_For the second time within five minutes he rose to lean on his elbow, just this time he wasn't pulled to his feet. Hearing the man's approach he chanced a glance over his shoulder, seeing that the man coming toward him – a 'I'm-not-going-to-take-any-crap-from-you'-kind of look on his face as he stared down at Steffan._

_He made to rise, to stand on his feet, but was roughly pulled back down on his knees. Confused Steffan looked up at the man, who he noticed was undoing his trousers, giving the youth a front row view of his crotch. The man drew nearer and Steffan's confusion grew, till he was face-to-cock and he realized what was demanded of him._

_Eyes wide he backed away from the exposed member. The man, angered by the youth not doing what was expected of him, followed and taking a firm grip of his shirt and lifted Steffan slightly off the ground and aimed a hard blow at his face. A loud splintering sound followed and a pain that close to had him passing out made him sure that something had to have broken._

_Hanging limply from the hand, which fingers were still curled around the shirt, Steffan was set down on his knees again. But still unwilling to comply he retreated again, and this time his disobedience was rewarded with a kick to his midriff. Gasping, the youth doubled over clutching the impacted area._

_Pain tearing through him, his determination was crumbling under the brutal treatment. He didn't fight more, between his pounding head the intense pain in his torso and the choking grip the hand had around his throat… he just didn't have the strength.*_

Hot tears of shame made tracks down his cheeks and he'd begun to shake uncontrollable, the glass falling from his hand into the sink.

Throughout the night more beatings and more kicks had come his way and when the man finally left Steffan was unfeeling and barely conscious and had only distantly noted when the man at leaving gave the same promise as the other had – that he would be back.


	4. Breaking Point

**Pt. 4: Breaking Point**

Summary: You can only take so much, before you reach your breaking point...

Disclaimer: see previous chapters

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><p>There was a light knock on the door and then a female voice spoke up.<p>

"Puppy?" the voice said. "Are you awake?"

Green eyes blinked and then stared right ahead, and soft lips moved slightly as to let a reply come over them but there was no sound.

The door slid aside to reveal a slim woman standing in the doorway. She looked toward the bed, her light blue moving over the slender form under the quilt to the head resting on the pillow. In the light spilling in through the open door she saw stains of blood on the floor and on the quilt.

Her, till then, cold gaze soften as she gazed upon her son's face. She remembered being in his age, when being orphaned and having to make it on her own – any way possible. And she had. She'd learnt do con, steal and eventually even to offer herself without for a second letting it affect her, or it hadn't to begin with. After a while she became cold and calculating, seeing opportunities in anything – never for a second caring about who she was taking advantage of as long as she could gain something from it.

She blinked and the past gave way for the present and she was gazing down at her son again.

He would understand, she thought before she turned and left through the door which closed behind her with a soft hiss.

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><p>In just one night his life had been turned up-side-down and suddenly it was full of fear and uncertainty. He'd had plans for the future, for his life, that he would finish school and get a job and… and what did that matter anymore? One night, and it seemed so impossible out of reach.<p>

It was his fault, Steffan thought. He had been too weak. He hadn't stood up for himself, or at least not enough, and his mother had seen it. He knew that she was a master in finding people's weaknesses and taking advantage of them. No one had ever escaped her.

He leant against the smooth wall of the shower cabin, covering his face with his hands, hoping that when he removed them and opened his eyes he would find that it was all just a nasty nightmare, but…

But when his hands fell away from his face, he was still standing in the shower and his body was still battered and bruised. He turned off the water and stepped out of the shower cabin.

Standing in front of the mirror he contemplated whether he should leave the bruises as they were, so that his mother would see what she'd caused him, but then he sighed knowing that he wouldn't allow himself to do that. He'd always been told that what really mattered was to look perfect and it had stuck with him, so he quickly covered up the dark spots on his face and neck and other exposed parts of his body.

When he arrived into the kitchen his mother was already sitting by the table, her attention at the holoscreen. Silently he sat down and stared at the table top.

"Have you slept well?" he heard his mother's voice beside him as a cup was set down in front of him, and he was astounded by the way she seemed to act like nothing had happened and this was just any other morning. Anger rose in him, but before it had gained ground it was squelched by an overpowering sense of helplessness. So what if he got angry, what would he do? It wasn't like he could just leave, he had nowhere else to go and he'd never learnt how to make it on his own. Avoiding the question he turned his face away.

He heard her sigh as she sat down again.

"I understand that it's all very new to you and because of that it may seem strange and a bit scary," she said gazing at the turned away face, "but with time it will be easier and you will come to enjoy it."

Steffan's eyes, focused on the table top, moved slightly in her direction but apart from that he remained still. He would come to enjoy it? He didn't think it was possible.

"But that's not what's troubling you, is it?" his mother said, having noted the slight shift of his eyes. He felt her hand stroking lightly over his hair. "May it be that you did enjoy it, and you feel ashamed for it?"

Steffan stiffened. He had _not _enjoyed it! Though… there had been moments, even in the most brutal ones, when he'd felt something – something that left him confused. How could he feel anything else than disgust for what's been done to him? He'd been violated, without care, treated like a whore and yet… yet there was a part of him, deep deep down, that even in the most anguished moments had felt something. But how...

His mother watched him, could almost see the thoughts going through his mind, deciding that this was a good time to… encourage them.

"It's okay, puppy," she said softly. "It doesn't have to be something to be ashamed of. What you felt was a natural reaction to what happened. You shouldn't fight it."

Steffan shook his head slightly, as to make the thoughts go away, but instead they grew more insistent. He recalled how he at some points had ceased to fight or, in the case of his first encounter, slipped out of the detached mode he'd been in to just go along with it, to… to enjoy it. He was reluctant to admit that though.

His hands curled into fists on his lap, his mother's voice mixing with the memories, showing him a picture in which she was right and whatever he said in his defense was wrong. He had enjoyed it, may it be for only brief moments but he had enjoyed it. It made him feel sick, that's not how it was supposed to be like – it was supposed to be tender, loving, and with someone you loved. Not because you were forced to do it.

"Puppy."

This wasn't right… was it? His thoughts was racing through his mind, too fast for him to keep up, and slipping away as he reached for them.

"Puppy."

His head turned slightly in her direction, but he didn't notice, a frown creasing his brow. But if she was right, and what he told himself wrong, that would mean…

"Puppy, it's okay."

"It's… okay?" he repeated silently now looking at her, like a confused child asking for verification on a question it just wasn't sure of the answer to.

His mother nodded encouragingly, taking his fisted hands in hers loosening them up.

"It's okay," she reassured.

His thoughts were suddenly clear again, as if she'd given the confirmation he'd needed, and the frown slowly faded.

"It's okay," he repeated again, and this time both his face, which had smoothen out to a perfect - if detached - calm, and his voice seemed to have changed as he spoke again. "It's all okay..."


End file.
